Keyo-Red Angel of Hope: Completed at roughly 02:20. A piece of romance between Rika and Takato, both copyrighted by Bandai.
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There were times that Rika had stopped and looked at what her relationship with the boy called Takato had become, and when she did, she always came to the conclusion that it had become a rather abusive one. They had been friends now for a good six years now, and while she had opened up a lot over the years there are some wounds that do not simply heal. She had been cold for a long time, more years than could simply be healed with warmth and understanding. Certainly she was willing to share any troubling secrets with her partner, but Renamon was not an expert on emotion, and it was in this department that she had come to abuse Takato.
When she was very happy, and if his company was available at the time, she would tend to stick near him. He was used to embarrassment and was capable of understanding her being uncomfortable with the warm emotion spreading through her body, and at the very least, his own embarrassment provided a diversion for her own. But it was when negative emotions came onto her, she would reflect, she really took advantage of her friend's kind manner.
There was not much that scared her, but what scared her most was returning to that cold state she had been in before, and when feelings of pain and sadness came onto her, she would remember the feeling that had caused her to become cold, and that image of her old self would appear to her mind's eye, and it scared her. She had never told him it did, but she felt that he knew.
When her grandmother had died, taken by a combination of the frailty of age and the onset of illness, she had barely spoken a word to her mother about it. Her eyes had become lidded and her face bland, her voice a smooth monotone to match. She swiftly realised how close she was to who she had been, but not her mother, or even Renamon could draw her out of the shell. And so she wound up turning to him. She had called him after the funeral, and the two met that night in the park, she still wore he dark funeral garb, and when she approached him, she had struck him. The first blow had been hard and square on the jaw, the next had been a lot softer, beating on his shoulder, and the ones that followed had been softer, and softer until she didn't have the will left, only focused upon holding back tears. His arms then snaked around her and held her close, her arms dangling at her side as her face was screwed up, forcing the tears to stay in. He had then told her, his voice slowly distorting because of the swelling in his jaw, that it was okay. And that was all he said. 'It's okay', the two words covering everything from permission to be weak, to forgiving her for striking him, it was enough for her and he knew it would be. And she cried, she held onto him and cried. And when she had finished, she stepped back, his grip falling away accordingly, the bruise now visible on his cheek, and he had asked her, hindered still by his swelling jaw if she was okay, and she had nodded, giving a small smile of relief as her heart felt lighter again, and she felt warm again. She was still sad, but she wasn't cold, and so she gave him a small thank you and left.
And so it always was, when she felt cold, she would leech from is warmth, always taking what she needed to feel whole, and he would always give her the warmth she sought, every time without question, or hesitation, that she was his friend was always reason enough for him to do so, and she knew this. So whenever she had these thoughts upon their relationship, their friendship, she would always wind up dismissing it on those grounds. She was taking only what he gave freely, it was not abuse, and she had no reason for any feelings of guilt, and she would carry on with her mind free.
Even after that night, when a combination of bad weather and a drunken driver had taken the life of his mother, she did not think differently of their relationship. He was sad, that was to be accepted, and angry too, and like his other friends she had looked in on him and asked if he was going to be okay, and like his other friends, she had been waved off with the assurance that he would be. He never denied that it hurt then, but he assured them all he would be fine, and like the rest, she had believed him. He was Takato and that was all the reason she had needed to believe him.
But slowly, as days passed, she noticed. He became less social, his awkwardness seemed to leave him, and what was left seemed changed. It was not that he had ceased to be easily embarrassed; rather, he was losing the energy to charge into the situations that left him embarrassed. She watched him more as days passed and he seemed to simply become less, shrinking away into himself, his smiles becoming more hollow and his enthusiasm more of a performance. Slowly, Rika came to recognise the signs, similar to the ones of her own coldness, but she ignored and denied them. Takato was Takato, there were not many with a heart as large and as warm as his, and he would never become the cold person she had been. She had cursed herself when she finally realised that this was what was causing him to fall into this state.
Takato would never burden others with the extent of his problems, dropping his sadness and frustration upon them. Days had passed since his mother had been placed in the ground, and he had carried all the weight from it upon his heart, and she had to wonder, was that all? He was Takato, and had no doubt tried to carry some of the weight for his father, and for Guilmon, and from all who had loved his mother. She had to wonder how much weight upon his heart was hers, built up over the years.
How much weight had she placed upon him? How much had any of them ever carried for him?
She had wound up banging upon his door in the night, not leaving until he answered, ignoring the wails and cries of the cats, dogs, and neighbours she disturbed. Eventually he did pull the door open, barely changed from his day attire, the same tee-shirt sat upon his chest and his boxer shorts had covered his lower half, a sock still adorned his left foot, his right left naked. He was surprised to see her, enough to shake his drowsiness, but not enough to hide the wet marks around his eyes, or the sad disposition upon his face. And looking at him, Rika knew that even if she did ask, even if she pushed or pulled, he would never simply tell her. She had been prideful and tried to repel everything, he was soft and tried to keep his troubles in, keeping them from hurting anyone he cared for. And so she knew in that moment that to draw Takato out she would have to take direct action and confront the matter head on, as she always did, she simply did not know how, and before she did know, she had kissed him.
Many people talk of how in that first kiss they are aware of soft lips, of warmth and all the love in a person's body, or their surprise at the act. All Rika was aware of was how Takato had become taller than her, as she was forced to push up on her toes slightly to reach his lips, it was only when she pulled back did she become aware of her own surprise and his before pushing back again, her arms coming up to grasp on to his skinny body as he slowly woke up and pushed back, his arms clutching to her slim waist as he pulled her inside.
Rika had once looked back upon that night and wondered if it had been her abusing him again, simply taking from him the affection she wanted when he was weak enough to not worry about the consequences. But he had been the one to pull her top off, to carry her through to his bed, though if any had the guts to ask she would tell them she made no effort to stop him. And he had been the one to whisper words of love in her ear, as they lay naked and marked with each other's sweat, telling her he did, promising her he did, holding her close as they both fell into a deep warm sleep.
That was the night that things changed, the day her abuse of him and his hiding had stopped. They had been shy around each other the next morning, blushing when they awoke to the sight and feel of one another, and he had allowed her the privacy of his room to dress, returning only to give her the shirt they had left lying in the hall. The worry that followed later of the chances of pregnancy was shared between them, and only them. They had not told any of their friends about that night, she had not even told Renamon, and the purchase of the pregnancy test was conducted in secret. Rika later wondered why she had gone to see him before looking at the results herself, and why she hadn't been surprised when he held her hand as they sat on his worn couch, and told her that it was okay. That was all, 'It's okay'. They had looked and had been relieved when the test told them negative. It was only after when they sat in a tired silence did she ask him the question she had been dreading since that night.
"Did you mean it?" Her voice might not have been heard if the room hadn't been so still. She became afraid of what his answer could do to her, both had the potential to break her, it was a matter that involved a lot of emotion, where reasoning had no place, and it left Rika afraid that she could do nothing to affect the outcome. And she could tell, just by knowing him, that Takato was afraid, because his big heart would worry about hurting her, either now or later, no matter whether he meant what he said or not.
"I did." He eventually replied, turning to look straight into her eyes. Both looked very afraid, but his belied a confidence; that his answer was truthful. "I honestly and truly did."
"I see." Was all she said in reply before allowing the silence to return.
He would worry, she knew, and she squeezed his hand to tell him not to. She was still here holding his hand; there was no reason for those new worries yet.
They had gone out that night and dined together in a small fast food restaurant, where they talked and for the first time in days she was able to see glints of his light shine through the gloom that had surrounded him. They had shared his bed again that night, though with better precautions this time. Rika knew Takato wasn't direct like she was, and that this was likely the only way she could ever draw that raw emotion from him, but she knew why she did it, and before they fell asleep tangled in each other's arms she whispered in his ear, words of love. Telling him she did, promising him.
As time passed, he would continue to carry weight for others when he could, but she would always pick him up, force him to share it with her. There was, she told him, more than one type of partners people could be, and they were one of those different kinds. The type that could carry weight for one another and whisper in each others ears at night, the type that could dance simply because the other was there, the type that wore matching rings and watched a belly grow with great expectation.
Looking down at her flat stomach, Rika ran a ring free hand across it before pulling the baggy tee-shirt over her body. 'Not yet', she surmised, padding into the bedroom and pulling herself under the covers to lie next to Takato. 'But one day'. She was sure of that, wrapping an arm around him and pulling in close. Takato was easily flustered and embarrassed, even now, and they were both young yet, they had no reason to rush into a monotonous life. For now they were happy, crushed together in this bed made for one, arms wrapped around each other and weary smiles on their faces. He made her feel warm, and she made him feel strong, and the loved each other, they were willing to wait to see where it took them.
"Good night Rika…"
"Good night Takato…"
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Keyo – Red Angel of Hope: Probably the result of staying up into the early hours of the morning and looking at Rukato fan-art. Rika and Takato are a couple I really like and this idea sort of shot into my head, my willpower weakened by sleep I was compelled to write it all out.
I'm not sure if there is too much of a point. I'd like to think it goes a bit into how couples support one another, but I'll probably wind up looking at this again when I'm fully awake and going 'What the fudgemuffin…!?'.
Emotions can be a real problem, and it isn't a good idea to keep them bottled up. I figured both Rika and Takato are the types to do that, though for different reasons, and so I kind of ran with that as part of the theme of the story.
I hope you all enjoyed this and please leave a comment, even if you're as confused as to the point (if any) as I may be eventually.